Posted By Susan Clotfelter On June 26, 2008 @ 9:01 am In General | 4 Comments

I’ve discovered that gardening with ferocity forces you to pay attention to time in a whole new way. For example, I’ve known for a long time that this volunteer climbing rose — which simply appeared unbidden one year, shooting up out of a stickery shrub on the west side of my house — blooms in early summer.

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But I’d never before clocked quite how hard and how fast it blooms. As in, by the time my first bouquet from it has wilted, it’s DONE. As in, by the time I remember to tell an herbalist friend that it has buds galore for her project, those buds have popped, dried, and begun shedding their petals. As in, before I can change the batteries in my camera, it’s almost spent.

This is a year of landscape transition, so there is nothing really new in the back yard except the lettuce bed and a Mexican sunflower that I didn’t expect to return, opening its unassuming face in the

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shade of the weedy, normal, seeded-by-birds sunflowers that seem to grow a foot every day. Out front, the evening primroses in the Proof of Life garden that I worried over are now opening their big, yellow, saucer-like blooms. I planted two varieties by accident: “Silver Blade,” and “Comanche Campfire.” All four Silver Blades came back, albeit infinitesimally slowly. But only one of three Comanche Campfires lived through winter — but the one that DID return came back super strong. I like Silver Blade’s gray-green foliage, but check out the above photo: spent, speckled Campfire buds nuzzling each other.

Meanwhile, the callirhoe has completely taken over the flagstone path.

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I was pondering buying more of these plants, also called winecups, to fill in the blank spots around and between them, never guessing that they’d go all territorial imperative on their bad selves. The solar birdbath fountain is getting so much use, I’m having to clean it weekly (and refill it daily). And I’m watching flower shoots on a “Bela Lugosi” daylily swell and get ready to pop.

But this, more than anything, tells me that, DANG, it IS summer: I strolled by the patio of a downtown Denver denizen who ALREADY has tomatoes. I don’t mean plants, I mean RED RIPE FRUIT. Not making this up. There they are, in a pot on his or her patio. Three plants in a pot of gigantic proportions, and I say there just oughta be a LAW against having tomatoes fruiting already. They’re snuggled up to the corner fence of a patio that is gloriously landscaped, all in containers. The placement of that tomato pot: it’s just tantamount to bragging.

Sigh. Next year, next year, next year, I tell myself. I seeded my tomatoes indoors too early, then they spent an awfully long time in pots waiting for the weather to warm up. I put out a few in walls of water, but then I didn’t leave those frost-protectors on long enough. Now I’m coaxing and babying them, urging them to put on leaves and stems and branches and pinching off buds that would result in tiny, too-soon pathetic fruit. Not everyone does that, but I think it helps. I want a big, bounteous, “slap’em on the grill and freeze them and plop them on pizza come winter” tomato harvest. Not a piddly few tomatoes, no matter how yummy.

Meanwhile, not just the Front Range that’s awash in blooms and blossoms and fruit. If you want to see what’s blooming in the high country — where all that snow has produced a late but glorious wildflower season, check out this story[1] that ran in The Post’s Tuesday LifeStyle section.

And speaking of things that seem to be finished just as they’re beginning to bloom, it’s time for our Grow section to fold its petals. If you’ve had fun reading it this spring, stay tuned to Digging In and to our Food, (Wednesdays) Lifestyle, (Tuesdays) and Room (Thursdays) sections for more gardening this year. We’re not going away, we’re just composting and harvesting, and the Grow stories that you see online will stick around and be updated all year.

In Friday’s final section of the season, you’ll find a lot of sweet treats: All about honeybees and what you need to keep them happy; how to learn to love your clay; and a host of other goodies. Enjoy. That’s what the season of bloom is all about.